History Repeats Itself

I’ve decided to overshare, because if I don’t, I’ll go bonkers.

(Too late?)

My neighbor started using heroin again and he won’t be coming back once he’s done with detox and the group home, according to his heart-broken father.

I am sad. I’ll miss my young friend. All I can do is pray for him now, but I can’t allow him back into my life.

My daughter is really struggling mentally and I am scared. It seems as though history is repeating itself. I know that I worried the hell out of my own mother practically my entire life.

History repeats itself. Hand drawn dry brush lettering. Ink proverb banner. Modern calligraphy phrase. Vector illustration.

Mental illnesses are not to be fucked with.

I’m having a hard time right now, but I have no choice but to wait until Sept 11th to see someone myself.

My daughter has a therapist and she’s on medication, but it doesn’t seem to be helping much. It’s just this continuous fucking battle and I honestly don’t know what to do for her. I do understand how she is feeling. I’m above her slightly only because I’m so much older and have more experience with these fuckers.

She has the exact same problems as I have.

I handed this shit down to my baby girl.

The catalyst? Her boyfriend broke up with her because they weren’t “growing” as a couple. I’d love to punch the little twit right now, but that’s not an option.

She misses her grandmother so much and she keeps asking me why she had to die.

How do you answer that?

Because that’s what humans do. We die. We all end up dying, there are no exceptions to this rule.

Because it was her time to die. God wanted her back. She had a good life and I reminded B that she brought her so much joy and love. My mom wanted B to always remember her and she certainly will. She made that dream a reality.

I was planning on going on a trip to visit a friend for a few days, but last night my daughter asked me to please not leave her alone right now. As much as I was excited about taking a break from reality for a spell, I can’t go. I had to break the news to my friend, who I know is disappointed, but I’m pretty sure that she’ll understand.

History repeats itself.

My mom spent 44 years of her life taking care of me and now it’s my turn to do that for my child.

I only hope that I can keep her safe from her demons.


“My MOM Has Fibromyalgia!”

My daughter made manager at her work a couple of days ago, after three years of taking food orders, working the grill (they make gourmet burgers) and every other menial task that comes with the job.

The kid has one hell of a work ethic, something that I’d struggled with in my early years.┬áIt took having her at age 22 to grow my ass up and do what was (mostly) right.

I can’t express just how proud of her I am. She’s done with classes for the summer, so at this very moment, she’s in her bed sleeping, probably dreaming of the day when she graduates from college and gets a “real” job.

A real job to her is one that doesn’t involve coming home smelling like grease.


This is the first image you’ll find when you Google “smells like grease.”

She works with mostly males and from what I’ve gathered, some of them are real assholes.

This doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.

They hired an 18-year-old boy who has fibromyalgia and he was having a bad day. According to my offspring, the guys began teasing him because of it. He was struggling hard to keep up with the physical challenges of working at an upscale fast food place and in the end, he asked to be sent home.

That really gave these imbeciles even more fuel to ridicule the suffering boy. This infuriated my daughter so much that eventually she lost her proverbial shit and went off on them.

“My MOM has fibromyalgia you *$@&!!” (I’ve never heard her swear, unless you count damn it once.)

I guess this info only gave them more to poke fun at, which seems to be just the way, doesn’t it?

My daughter said that she was so furious, she barely spoke to anyone for the rest of the shift. (This all happened before she got promoted to manager, otherwise the silent treatment wouldn’t have been prudent.)

“Aw, honey. That poor boy and he’s so young,” I said to her.

“I wanted to punch them. They just don’t understand, bunch of idiots.”

I felt three distinct emotions during this conversation:

  1. Empathy for the young man who has a whole lifetime ahead of him with the monster known as fibromyalgia.
  2. Anger at the people who were throwing shade at him. (What? Am I too old to use that expression?)
  3. Love, because she was ardently sticking up for the underdog and of course, for me, her mommy.

“Well, honey, most people don’t understand something unless it’s happening to them.”

“They all suck.”

Yeah, she had me there.

Only I would have said that they fucking suck.

When I attempt to do something that might cause me harm, my daughter tells me to be careful.

She also tells me not to fall, which is something that I do often enough to prompt her to say that in the first place.

Or she’ll just tell me to sit down, that she’ll do it.

And as stubborn as I am, I usually let her.

My Little Miracle

My daughter is 21 years old today!

I became pregnant with her at that age, but I was 22 when she had to be delivered almost 6 weeks premature in order to save both of our lives. Labor was induced, but the whole ordeal lasted a total of 5 days, with me staying on the ICU maternity ward for 24 hour surveillance in case I started to stroke out or have a heart attack due to my sky-high blood pressure.

She’s my little miracle.


B at 2 months and an extremely young me.

I remember the day that this photo was taken, my mom came over for a special photo shoot, which is why we’re both dressed up.

I’m taking her out to dinner and if she wants, I’ll buy her (her first) legal drink. I don’t think that she enjoys alcohol all that much, but you know, tradition and shit.

Happy birthday baby girl, I love you so much.